


Busted and Blue

by RiaTheDreamer



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Bad Ending, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Drowning, Emotional Manipulation, Hurt No Comfort, Kinda suicidal thoughts, M/M, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 07:40:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16237157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiaTheDreamer/pseuds/RiaTheDreamer
Summary: Temple leaned closer to him, his smirk shining through the visor. “Hey, Simmons, just asking for an opinion here, but between the two of you, who should kick the bucket?”Simmons forced himself to breathe despite the lump in his throat. “Grif,” he answered.





	Busted and Blue

It was Tucker’s string of curses that woke Simmons up. They’d been stuck in the cell for so long now that the bare grey walls no longer surprised him when he opened his eyes. Simmons quickly propped himself upwards with his arm, knowing he had to be ready for what came next.

“What the fuck do you want, you son of a bitch?” Tucker asked Temple, hands clutching the bars.

But Temple didn’t pay him any attention as he walked past his cell, humming for himself until he came to a halt in front of Simmons.

Dread filled his stomach when Temple’s visor tilted down at him. “I need your help,” he said, offering his hand in an almost friendly gesture, had it not been for the handcuffs dangling from his fingers. “You could go with me peacefully, or I could shoot your friends one by one until comply. But I know it won’t be a problem. You are the smart one, right?”

Simmons gulped but then nodded, raising his wrists so that Temple could cuff them after opening his cell door.

“Simmons,” Tucker said lowly, almost in a growl as he kept his eyes on Temple, entire body alert.

“Don’t worry, Tucker!” Temple said in a mockingly formal tone. “I’m sure Private Simmons won’t regret his decision!”

“ _Captain_ ,” Simmons corrected him under his breath, but with Temple’s gun pointed at his back, he had no choice but to walk forward, trying to keep his chin raised. He wasn’t sure what Temple needed him for, and he knew it couldn’t be anything good, but he had the feeling that Temple would reveal his motives soon.

The moment the door slid close behind them, muting his teammates’ question, Temple said: “I think you’ll be happy about my offer. Trust me-“

“I don’t,” Simmons cut in bitterly, flexing his wrists against the handcuffs.

“Anywho… The fact is – your friend is here!”

This wasn’t what Simmons had expected, and he blinked, trying to get a hold of his expectations before he hoped for too much. “My- my friend?”

“Wrong choice of word, really. Oops. My bad. _Grif_ is here.”

Simmons came to a halt so suddenly that Temple’s pistol dug into the spot between his shoulder blades. “Grif?” he asked breathlessly.

“Yep! Unfortunately for all of you, his stealth skills are far from perfect. But here’s the thing.” With a hand on his shoulder, he pressed Simmons against the wall, looming over him to get his point across. “I may have a… soft spot for orange soldiers. I don’t want to kill Grif. And I don’t have to.” He sighed, a deep-felt and exhausted sound, before tilting his head. “Do you want Grif to live, Simmons?”

“I- _Of course_ \- I-“

“Great!” Temple said, trying to clasp his hands together but the pistol came in the way. “Because I’ve run into a problem… I offered Grif a chance to live, you see! I said he could join _my_ team! Which would be a very understandable choice due to you two’s… fallout. But he turned me down. That loyalty of his is a problem and it’s going to get him killed. And we don’t want that, do we?”

The thought of Grif being here – Grif trying to save them – Grif willing to die with them made Simmons’ heart beat painfully fast. “What do you want me to do?” he asked, fearing the answer.

“I wish I could just spare Grif’s life! Take him in! But, well, my team can’t accept a person who’d be fighting us at every given chance. We don’t exactly tolerate team-killing here. Surely, you get that. So in order for Grif to get away scot-free, I need him to give up on you.”

Simmons’ heart skipped a beat. “I- I don’t-“

“I mean, you’ve already done plenty! You’ll get that when you see Grif. He isn’t exactly… undamaged from your little spat. But you haven’t broken him enough. He still insists that you are the good guys and that he has to help you. Which is a lie, of course, we all know that. So just… Break him. Completely, this time. It can’t be that hard.”

Temple fell quiet with a light shrug, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

But Simmons couldn’t quite comprehend what he’d been told, and he wasn’t even sure what shocked him the most. The fact that Grif was here, or how Temple had mentioned Grif already being broken, or how Simmons had not been given the task of shattering Grif’s last trust.

Before this, Simmons hadn’t thought Grif would forgive them. He’d thought that the void between them would remain, that Grif’s last words to him would be _“I’m done_ ” and that he’d never see him again.

But to know that Grif was here, for them, ready to go down with them – it filled Simmons’ chest with joy, relief and fear simultaneously.

“I don’t know what I can…”

“I’m sure you will come up with something!” Temple said, giving him a comforting pat on the shoulder. “You said you wanted him to live, right? That means there’ll be some sacrifices, but if you give a shit about him-“

“I do.”

“Great! There’s no problem then! And if you feel like you are going to miss him, just know that at least this way, he won’t have to die a horrible death! Because that would be all on you, and could you really live with that guilt?” Temple inhaled, as if about to say something more, but then he turned his head, voice growing darker. “It’s really not easy to live on like that…”

Simmons could feel his knee shaking, but he forced himself to raise his chin to meet Temple’s visor. “But you won’t hurt him if I- if I get him to go with you?”

“I’ll keep him safe from the UNSC _and_ from you. I mean, between the two of us, _you’re_ the one his bitterness should be directed at. But I suppose there are some sentimental bonds we need to free you of.” Temple finally took a step backwards, just barely leaving Simmons’ personal sphere. Ignoring Simmons’ handcuffs, as if their position wasn’t skewed due to the prisoner/captor- relationship, Temple held out a hand. “So do we have a deal?”

Simmons bit down on his lip to hold back a string of curses, and he shook the hand quietly, the metal frames scraping against his armor plates.

It’d be better than see Grif being tortured to death, Simmons told himself, but his fingers had already begun to shake because he knew it wasn’t like Grif would go through this painless either way.

This certainly would be painful for Simmons.

Grif’s words – _“I don’t like you. Any of you.”_ – still rang in his memories, and he could recall the sensation of being punched in the chest, air knocked out of his lungs, leaving him breathless and aching and bitter.

And Simmons knew he had to beat that pain in order to save Grif.

“What do you want me to tell him?” he asked when Temple began to move down the hallway again. This time he wasn’t pointing his pistol directly at Simmons, but instead just counted on him to follow. And Simmons didn’t let down his expectations. It wasn’t like he could run from this, at least, not without others getting hurt in the process.

“Oh, I am giving you free creativity for this! Go wild! I’m sure you can work your way through it!” And then his tone changed, just a pitch darker, more smug than before. “Besides – I saw Dylan’s interviews! So this really shouldn’t be anything new for you.”

He’d told Dylan that Grif wasn’t his friend.

Now he had to make that statement true.

“It’s not like you have that much of a choice, actually,” Temple mused. “Either you care enough about Grif to help me prove my point for his own sake, _or_ you don’t care about him, which would also happen to prove my point. It’s beautifully simple, really. What is it they say? – Justice delayed is justice determined.”

The room that Temple led him to was securely locked, and the Blue had to enter a code before the metal door slid open. Simmons found himself standing on top of a metal staircase. As he looked down, he could see the rest of the room beneath them: very barren, actually, a single chair and nothing else. Still, the high ceiling and the fact that the room had a glass wall made it rather impressive. The wall curved, making Simmons realize that he was entered something that he could only describe as a half-bubble.

The water all around him only made him want to press himself against the single metal wall connecting them to the rest of the lair, but Temple had him descend down the stairs. The blue light was rather beautiful – despite its blue color - and it moved and danced when fish swam by.

Simmons didn’t focus on the beauty though. His eyes had found Grif in the middle of the room, placed in the single chair. Without his orange armor, it’d taken Simmons a second to recognize him.

Cronut was standing next to the chair, acting as a guard, and he’d been busy showing Grif something on a datapad when Temple and Simmons joined them.

_“-want to know how much pygmy sloth he has in him? Because it's a lot-“_ Simmons managed to hear before the video was cut off and Cronut moved away, being sent out of the room with a silent gesture from Temple.

“So,” Temple said, clasping his hands together as they were left alone in the room, “I think-“

“ _Simmons_!” Grif gasped, shuffling in his chair, and first now Simmons saw the handcuff connecting his left wrist to the armrest.

He didn’t comment it. Instead, he bit down so hard on his lip that he could taste it bleed.

He wished Temple would have let Grif keep his helmet. Without his armor he looked so oddly small, being left in is Kevlar suit as if Temple had needed to inspect him all around. The thought made Simmons clench his fists.

But worst of all – there was no helmet to shield him from Grif’s eyes, his expression, that for some reason was way easier to read now than it’d ever been before. It was like a sort of cruel irony. All the times that Simmons had wished he’d be able to read the emotions in Grif’s face, and now – now when he wished that he could avoid seeing the hurt, Grif’s eyes were wide open and revealing everything.

Simmons could see the exhaustion, confusion, excitement, fear and vulnerability all at once.

Grif’s hair was greasy, clinging to his forehead and Simmons didn’t look away fast enough to escape the sight of the bags beneath Grif’s eyes, the red skin where the handcuff dug into it.

Temple sighed loudly, moving to stand behind Grif’s chair. As he was only within Simmons’ field of sight, he made a quiet gesture for him to begin.

Simmons swallowed. “What is this?” he asked, heart beating faster at every word.

“Just a small reunion that I felt was in order. Grif here has been talking so much about his _‘friends’_ that I felt like we need to clear up some things.” He gave Grif’s head a gentle pat, and Simmons watched his expression turn into a scowl, leaning away from Temple’s touch.

“What is he doing here?” Simmons asked loudly. He couldn’t feel his lips any longer.

Grif’s mouth dropped, eyes going wide, as if he’d just received a blow to the stomach. “I-“

“He’s not a part of our team.”

“You- You were the ones who fucking blew Lopez into space to get help!”

“ _Actual_ help, Grif! Not you- you- you got caught, what, two minutes into your rescue mission? What a help.”

He wished Grif hadn’t gotten caught. He didn’t blame him, but right now, he wished nothing more but for Grif’s stealth skills to be a bit better, for Temple’s security being too lax.

If Grif had managed to complete his rescue, they wouldn’t be here.

Simmons wouldn’t be forced to do this to Grif.

Behind the chair, Temple gave him a thumbs-up, making it clear that he was doing a great job.

Simmons wasn’t sure how he was going to get through this without throwing up.

“As I told you, Grif, your former team isn’t exactly as forgiving as I am. I wasn’t lying to you. And the offer to join my team still stands.”

“Just take him,” Simmons said. “We don’t want him.”

He could sense the smile behind Temple’s visor.

His blue gloves dug into Grif’s shoulder. “It’d be tragic to just waste your life-“

“There isn’t much to waste,” Simmons said, tasting bile.

Grif’s head was lowered, as if he couldn’t keep his head up. Surely this had to be enough, Simmons thought, never having seen Grif look so defeated before. Temple had to acknowledge this, had to say that they were done…

But then Grif shook his head, hair falling into his eyes. “This- this is your Simmons, right? Steve or- _Gene_ , his name was Gene. Nice try, asshole, but I’m not-“

Simmons knew what Temple wanted him to do next. Wordlessly, he reached up to remove his helmet in a movement as swift as the handcuffs allowed it to be.

He didn’t know how to keep his expression steady, but Temple made it perfectly clear that he had to do it.

Simmons looked at the whale swimming by the room so that he didn’t have to see Grif’s expression crumble.

“Oh,” the Hawaiian said, slumping into his seat.

The face had been enough proof – Gene might have the same voice, but the cybernetics was Simmons’ trademark.

“Yeah,” Simmons said with a shrug. He managed to put his helmet back on just in time to hide the tear falling from his human eye. “But… you don’t like me, so it’s not like it matters…”

Grif was quiet now, looking at his own lap. In the silence, Simmons could hear the rattling of the handcuff when Grif’s hands kept shaking.

“I’m sorry,” Grif mumbled. “Fuck. Si- Cine- I’m sorry-sorrysorry-I-“

“Well,” Temple said loudly to avoid letting him finish, making Grif flinch when his palms smacked together. “I’m starting to feel like an awkward third wheel. So it’s probably time that I reveal why I need your help. You see, murder is, as we all know, the best way to keep an army calm, and the guys have been so restless lately. My hands are tied. _But_ I want to hear your thoughts on who should have the honor.”

And there was the catch.

Simmons had expected it, of course. Temple wasn’t to be trusted.

And even now, even with this revelation, he wouldn’t be breaking his word. If Simmons held his part of the deal, Grif would be walking away without a scratch.

But Simmons wouldn’t be seeing the others again. He’d hoped, wished, that it’d end with him joining the others in their cell, so they could break out and save the day like they’d always done. They’d beat Temple and find Grif, so that Simmons could tell them that he’d lied, that Temple had made him do it, that he _did care_ …

He should let go of that hope now.

Temple would only let one of them survive this meeting, and that meant that if Simmons screwed up, he’d be stuck in the cell knowing that he’d killed Grif with his own uselessness…

Simmons’ vision flickered for a second but he willed himself not to pass out.

Grif was quiet, too, remaining limp as the Blue moved away from his chair to put his focus on Simmons instead.

Temple leaned closer to him, his smirk shining through the visor. “Hey, Simmons, just asking for an opinion here, but between the two of you, who should kick the bucket?”

Simmons forced himself to breathe despite the lump in his throat. “Grif,” he answered.

He could see Grif’s lips quiver, but no sound left them.

Temple’s fingers were pressing into his back, painfully despite the armor, urging Simmons to say more. “It wouldn’t be fair,” he continued, unsure of how hoarse his voice had become. “He’s not a part of the team and- and you said that you wouldn’t kill us- you promised us that and Sarge… Just ask Sarge! He’d say to kill Grif at any time, believe me!” He laughed nervously, voice shaking, like it always did when he was nervous.

It was a cruel but obviously planned move that Grif’s expression was left open and exposed so they could all see it crumble, while Simmons’ visor hid his red eyes and running nose.

The next step, of course, would be for Grif to say that Simmons should die. That would be the end of it, finally. ‘The end’ being a quite definite term for Simmons. He wouldn’t be leaving this room, he’d be sure of that, but Grif would be broken enough for Temple to find the pieces useful, allowing himself to keep him.

It was nowhere near perfect.

But it beat having Grif killed right in front of him.

“Such harsh words,” Temple said, shaking his head firmly. He placed himself in front of Grif again, kneeling down to put a comforting hand on his thigh. “And what do you think, Grif?”

The moment Temple had turned his back on Simmons, he knew the worst part was over. He’d done his job, and Temple was satisfied. That should have brought along some sense of pride, satisfaction, relief maybe, like when he’d pleased a superior. But the numbness had spread through Simmons’ veins, and he didn’t count on regaining the warmth in his body.

It was a small comfort that it’d be over now. He just needed the line from Grif and-

“Me.”

Simmons couldn’t focus on Grif’s distant tone or the dead look on his eyes – his entire being was up and alert as he could _sense_ Temple’s disappointment fill the room, the anger and bitterness.

It was like a Northern wind, cold and chilling and dangerous.

“ _No_ ,” Simmons gasped and he lunged for Temple when the man spun around with a snarl, heading towards the exit with quick, angered step. Simmons reached him at the bottom of the staircase. “Please,” he said, eyes drifting towards the chair Grif was still stuck to. “You said you’d let him go if-“

“If he changed his mind. Which he hasn’t. Seems like you did a shitty job.”

“No-“

“Or he’s just a lost cause.” Temple had raised his gun again, pointing it straight at Simmons’ visor. It made him flinch backwards, almost stumbling down the last metal step. After inhaling sharply, Temple added with a chuckle, “He certainly is now.”

A bullet bounced against the metal floor when Simmons made a beeline for Grif. As he hovered above him, meeting Grif’s widened eyes, he wondered if Temple would make it quick and shoot him from a distance.

But of course, that would require a good aim.

“We’re getting out of here,” he said in one breath, eyes zooming in on the single handcuff keeping Grif down. The armrest was made out of metal, but it felt like a hollow pipe, like one of the cheap office chairs their base in Blood Gulch had been filled with.

He could break that. Or bend it. Or push it out of the socket-

The gunshot sounded twice.

Simmons expected the pain to appear or for Grif to slump over in his seat but instead-

“Oh no,” he whispered when he looked upwards, watching the cracks spreading in the glass. It’d been too thick to allow the bullets to shatter it completely, but Simmons could hear the glass groaning, cracks growing like spider web as the water surrounding them continued to add pressure.

He turned his head just in time to see Temple leave the room, door locking behind him. “Shit,” he said, slamming down on the armrest with his gloved fist, movement awkward due to the handcuffs on his own wrists. “C’mon, c’mon.”

“Simmons?”

“I lied,” Simmons said, rushing every word. “I didn’t mean it, shit, Grif, I’d never- He said that if I made you hate me, he’d let you live, if you just went with him- _Shit_ , why didn’t you just go with-“

“You don’t hate me?”

“ _No_.”

“I don’t hate you either,” Grif told him, eyes shining with something else than tears, too cheerful for the situation as if he hadn’t realized their incoming doom. “Simmons, I-“

The pipe finally fell out of place when Simmons used his left arm, letting the cybernetics add the needed strength.

“Let’s go,” he said, nudging Grif towards the door, even though it’d probably be locked and it wouldn’t save them when the glass broke. Simmons threw his head around, trying to see if they’d left Grif armor in here. He’d need it, and the suit could generate enough oxygen for them to last for a while, maybe even enough for the others to escape and save them.

“I’m sorry,” Grif told him. “For the stuff I said back then. I didn’t mean it. Not like, that I was trying to save your life or anything – I was just angry and said a lot of bullshit-“

“Grif,” Simmons said and then the glass broke.

He’d wondered how it had felt when the Warthog had hit Grif. Right now, he had a pretty good guess.

The armor weighted him down, keeping him grounded when the wave knocked against them, filling the entire room with water.

But he could breathe. It felt unreal, with blue all around him, safely out of his lungs.

“Grif?” he asked, surprised to hear his own voice echo inside his helmet.

He wondered if anyone else could hear him.

He turned his head, trying to search for Grif who’d disappeared when water hit them, but his movements were slowed down, as if going in slow-motion.

The first thing he spotted was the black color – Grif’s hair spreading around him in swirling tendrils, almost innocently, as if the wind had merely caught it.

He was swimming towards Simmons, movements smooth and obviously practiced. Grif was a good swimmer – Simmons knew that, and Grif had told him about the waves back in Hawaii during one of the patrols they’d spent in the shade instead, Grif laughing as he talked about beaches and surfboards…

He came close enough to rest a hand against Simmons’ visor, both eyes and cheeks widened as he held his breath. A few bubbles left his nostrils.

“Go,” Simmons told him, unsure if he could open the door. It was worth a try, though Grif wouldn’t have much time left. Simmons wanted to move, but the damned water was making it difficult, and he knew that even without his armor, his cybernetics would still drag him to the floor.

He envied Grif’s elegant swimming skills, but he knew they weren’t going to be enough.

He didn’t have his armor.

Simmons did.

Grif’s lips moved upwards, sending him a last smile. It should have been comforting, maybe even sweet, but all Simmons could think of was the time that was running out, how he was going to see Grif’s mouth open in a desperate attempt to get air, he’d watch him struggle and then grow still and then float…

A sob left Simmons’ mouth, and his hands moved upwards, towards his helmet.

But Grif’s fingers wrapped around the handcuff’s chain to tug the hands closer to himself. He was shaking his head, the black hair moving in front of his face, covering it.

“Grif.”

Simmons closed his eyes, feeling like his lungs were burning, collapsing, as if he was the one drowning. But the suit kept him alive, even as he couldn’t find a proper reason to why he should be the one to live. It’d be better that Grif had given in, following Temple so that at least he could have lived.

He was sure Grif would disagree with that, and it had to be enough comfort for him.

He knew what Grif would want.

But Simmons allowed himself to be selfish enough to make his own choice.

Grif’s fingers were still interlaced with the chain as Simmons’ hands moved through the water to remove the helmet.

 

**Author's Note:**

>  _Be my light / On me, I am a satellite / And I can't get back without you ___  
> -Gorillaz, “Busted and Blue”
> 
>  
> 
> _  
> _Another one for the bingo. This one was prompted by Creatrixanimi, Anon#1, Anon#2, Anon#3 and Anon#4. Seriously, though, how was this prompt so popular? It was like ¼ of all the prompts I’ve received for the bingo combined. It was quite mixed whether the prompts wanted Grif or Simmons to be the unlucky guy, so I pleased the crowd by killing them both. Woops._  
>  _
> 
>  
> 
> _  
> _This ended like, three times bleaker than I thought. Well, in the concept version it was them falling through ice with Grif refusing to let go of Simmons, but then I needed a proper excuse to them not wearing armor, and then it felt less random to have Temple thrown into things, and, idk, this happened. Idk. I’m tired. I wrote 3500 words this fic today and a 5 pages paper. Can I sleep now?_  
>  _
> 
>  
> 
> _  
> _Bingo is still open, though I’ll be working on a gift fic and a lot of updates next.__  
> 


End file.
